


Rest in Pieces

by WhichWolfWins



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Robots & Androids, Frottage, Hand Jobs, M/M, Sex involving an android, Teenlock, Threesome - M/M/M, mention of past drug use
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-12-07
Updated: 2014-06-05
Packaged: 2017-11-20 13:21:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 16,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/585803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhichWolfWins/pseuds/WhichWolfWins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Watson has always wanted a robot of his own, so when he finds one in a junkyard, he takes it for himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. "Hello, Sherlock."

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to Arthur Conan Doyle, Steven Moffat, Mark Gatiss, and the BBC, and anyone else involved in the making and producing of this show. This is in no way mine; these are their toys and I am simply playing with them.
> 
> This fic will have a switching POV between John and Sherlock. This is in no way brit-picked or beta'd, so if you see any mistakes, they are my own and I would love for you to inform me of them! :)

The moon was hiding away behind the trees at John’s back as he did the same at the edge of the dark woods. He only had about a minute more to wait until the next ground patrol, and then he could set off.  
His gloved fingers were laced into the chain link fence as he stood waiting. He wasn’t stupid enough to risk a torch, not after the last time, so he put together a map in his head of the direction he would go when the time came. His eyes danced over the towering silhouettes of the junk piles on the other side of the metal fence as he tried to remember which piles he’d searched and which he’d wanted to get a better look at.

The dark made it impossible to get a good look at anything, so when he heard the familiar loud whir of the approaching bot, he searched frantically in the dark to see how close the bot was. It sounded a lot closer than it was and John blamed the bot’s fan. Clearly Thomas Crawley, the old man that owned the junkyard, didn’t take as good care of his bot as he should. More proof of that was given as the bot rolled closer and John saw that the bot’s age-yellowed eye-lights were flickering instead of glowing a steady bright white. 

Even in the state it was in, John knew not to underestimate the bot, so he dropped into a crouch and slipped his fingers through the fence’s links to hold himself up. 

The bot rolled to a stop less than 5 feet away from where John was crouched. His legs were tired from rugby practice earlier that day and they ached as he stayed still in the crouched position watching the bot turn and begin to roll in his direction. He found it not fair that the Old Man Crawley got to have a bot and he didn’t. He had wanted one since he was a kid and knew he would take a lot better care of it than the cranky old man. 

The bot came to a stop just in front of where John was crouched on the other side of the fence and he watched as the bot’s flickering eyes turned in his direction, scanning the dirt floor. There was the rusted frame of a car in between John and the bot and he watched through the windowless window frame as the bot’s eyes lit up the inside of the car. Its conveyor belt moved it closer to the car and its sensor lights nearly touched John. 

He tried to keep as quiet as possible as he slipped his fingers out of the fence and inched back against the rough bark of a tree trunk. The flickering sensor stopped at his feet and John tucked them underneath himself as he covered his nose and mouth to stifle his breathing. 

A black cat leapt out of the car and over the fence and John nearly cried out as it landed at his feet and scampered past him. The bot’s flickering lights, after determining that there was no imminent danger, turned, and the bot continued to move past him. 

John’s breath escaped him in a gust and he pushed his fingers back through the chain link fence to track the bot’s movements. He waited a whole three minutes before he finally decided it was safe to go. He slung his dirty black duffel bag over his shoulder and gripped the links of the fence to pull himself up and over. He landed on the other side with a muffled thump and took off at a run toward the nearest pile he wanted to search. He had only 27 minutes to dig until the bot’s next patrol, and 22 before he should head out. 

* * *

John sifted through the junk piles as quietly as possible, his eyes jumping from the junk to the front door of Old Man Crawley’s house and back again. He only had a small torch to light his search and he bit down on the torch’s handle to keep his hands free. The beam fell on all sorts of junk: burnt-out microwaves, rusted bike frames, shredded books. It had been made clear to him on his first visit to the junkyard that there was no order to each pile; they were just piles of junk heaped together, though some junk heaps had more quality junk than other junk heaps. 

Finding nothing of interest but a nice lamp that was mostly unscathed in the first pile that he would give to Harry to replace her broken one, John moved onto the next [ile, and then the next upon seeing nothing interesting in the second. He was about to write off this trip as a waste of time when the torch's light glinted off shiny metal at the bottom of the third pile. He dropped into a crouch that made his legs throb and reached for the metal. 

Upon first glance, the metal looked like it was just a thick pipe, but John knew better. He held his breath as he tugged on the metal leg. He knew not to get his hopes up; it wasn’t rare for him to come across random pieces of broken robots, but the leg didn’t budge. Heart racing, John began to push the junk surrounding the robot leg out of the way. His digging revealed a hip that was attached to a torso. He wrapped his arms around the middle of the bot and gave it a hearty pull. 

The bot came loose of the pile, as well as the junk above it. John had only a moment to heft the bot into his arms and take off running as the deserted items began to slide down like a tidal wave. The thunderous crash had the lights in the house flicking on and a moment later John heard the telling sound of the door banging open. He spared a glance over his shoulder to see Old Man Crawley standing in his doorway with a double-barrel shotgun held in his arms. 

John’s tired legs pumped as he raced blindly through the maze of junk piles and cars in various stages of decay toward the fence, his torch's beam bouncing wildly. The fence was just in his sight when he heard the sound of the dogs growling. John heaved the robot higher up into his arms before propelling it over the fence. It landed with a loud thump on the ground, but John had no time to worry about the damage he might have done as he jumped and latched onto the fence, taking the torch from his mouth and tossing it over the fence after the bot. 

One of the dogs snarled and leapt through the air. Its jaws clamped down on the leg of John’s jeans and gave it a mighty tug, nearly ripping John free of the fence and the jeans. He clung to the fence with all his might as he tried to shake off the dog and climb at the same time. He heard pounding footsteps charging through the dark toward him and he kicked out wildly, trying to dislodge the dog without hurting it. 

The sound of his jeans ripping was followed by a sudden loss of weight. John climbed at top speed up the fence and dropped onto the other side of the fence beside the limp robot. He sucked in gulps of air as he lifted the light weight onto his shoulders and took off running into the night. 

* * *

John let himself into the lightless house making sure to shut the door with as soft a click as possible behind him. His whole body felt heavy, yet every cell jumped with adrenaline and excitement. His footsteps fell quietly as he walked on socked feet down the hall to his bedroom. His dad’s bedroom door was closed like it had been when he’d left, but it didn’t tell him if his dad was home or if he was out. John paused outside his dad’s bedroom door and held his breath as he listened for the familiar deep snores of drunken sleep. Hearing nothing, John turned to his own bedroom door and stepped into his room. 

He knew he shouldn’t risk his dad finding him still awake, but he was too excited to wait until morning, so he laid the android out on the floor, then shut the blinds and stuffed a towel along the bottom of his bedroom door to prevent the light from peeking out underneath. His knees popped as he crouched once again, dropping down beside his latest find. 

The first thing John noticed was that it wasn't just a robot, but an android. It was clear to him that the bot he’d unburied was expensive. He had never seen one like it before with metal almost like porcelain and pieces so delicately shaped the planes of its metal looked nearly human. If John didn’t know better, the android could have passed as a person resting on his bedroom floor, lips slightly parted as if to breathe and all. The only thing that was missing was a heartbeat. 

The android was beautiful. It was clearly male, though the softness of its lips and the angular, yet soft curve of its cheekbones made it appear slightly androgynous. It had sculpted metal curls painted black that revealed a gold shimmer as John shifted to sit back on his heels. 

John paused when he spotted a button just behind the android’s right ear. He leaned forward and saw a thin, dark blue power sign branding the top. He took a nervous breath before pressing it. 

“Hello Sherlock,” the android said in a voice that was a low rumble, its eyelids flickering open to reveal the silver lights underneath. The dirt caking its eyelids forced the robot to close its eyes again and John powered it down. He pressed his ear to the door before he darted across the hallway to fill a cup with water and grab a towel before racing back on quiet feet. He sunk to the floor beside the android and John went to work cleaning it off the best he could. 

He made quick work of revealing the metal underneath the caked on dirt. The water in the cup was swirling with the dirt by the time he was satisfied. He marked the android’s price tag up even more when he found that the now clean metal had a pearly shimmer. The android took his breath away and he removed his gloves to brush his fingers along its forearm. It actually surprised him to find that the android was ice cold. The lack of dirt revealed a tiny hairline fracture along the side of the bot's right eyebrow ridge, most likely from John's mistreatment of it earlier that night. 

John knew that he couldn’t risk his father coming home and hearing the android, so he forced himself to push open the closet and hide the robot away inside. As he slid the door closed, he found himself feeling... he wasn’t sure. But he felt the need to draw a blanket off of his bed and tuck it in around the android. After closing the closet once more, he dumped the dirty water out the window, shoved the soiled towel into his laundry hamper, quickly stripped his clothes and hid his torn jeans, then shut off the light and crawled into bed. His exhaustion caught up with him and John was out almost as soon as his head hit the pillow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have the time, I always love getting comments.
> 
> Thank you for reading!
> 
> If you would like to follow me on Tumblr, you can find me here: http://whichwolfwins.tumblr.com/


	2. "Mycroft!"

Sherlock noticed its absence immediately upon arriving in his bedroom. He paused in the door and his eyes went directly to the empty chair beside his bed where his android always waited for his eventual return. Sherlock turned right back around instantly and stormed from the room. 

“Mycroft!” he yelled at the top of his lungs, so that his voice echoed through the halls. “If you did anything to it, Mycroft, so help me, I _will_ kill you!” 

Sherlock thundered down the hall to Mycroft’s office and slammed the heavy wooden door open and into the wall. He braced himself on the door frame and glared across the room at his brother, who sat in his squeaky leather chair that cried under his weight every time he shifted, behind the big wooden desk that hid his ever-expanding waistband. 

“Hello Sherlock,” Mycroft said, stilling the pen on the pad of paper he’d been writing on. He looked up at Sherlock with a pinched humourless smile, observing the likely damage Sherlock had done to his bedroom wall. “How can I help you?” 

“Where is it?” Sherlock said, gritting his teeth as he tried and failed to burn holes through his brother's head with his glare. 

“Whatever do you mean?” Mycroft said with faux-innocence, leaning back in his chair and clasping his hands together over the legal pad atop his desk. 

“You took my android! Where did you put it?” Sherlock yelled. 

“You mean that thing I told you I would take away if you ever got in trouble at school again?” 

“Mycroft!” Sherlock blared, bounding across the room and its brilliantly red carpet. He slammed his hands down on the desk, making his hands sting and ignoring it so he could glare at his brother instead. “That was an accident and you know it! I forgot to return the hand to the morgue. I didn't leave it in the teacher's fridge on purpose!” 

“Yes,” Mycroft said, pressing his lips together again in that condescending way of his. He sat forward with a sigh and leaned his forearms on the desks edge to bring his clasped hands under his chin. “Must I remind you, Sherlock, that I also said the last time drug paraphernalia was found in your room that if any was ever found again, I would take that... _thing_ ," Mycroft said, fluttering his hand dismissively in the air, "and dispose of it.” Mycroft reached down and opened a drawer to pull out a ziploc bag that made Sherlock's jaw clench. He set it down on the desk and pressed his lips together as he peered at Sherlock with his eyes tight at the corners. “Maria found this in your room yesterday morning.” 

Sherlock didn’t bother looking at the bag, because he knew exactly what was inside. He seethed at his brother, barely keeping himself from lunging across the desk and throttling him. “You can’t do this, Mycroft! Give. It. Back!” 

“We had a deal, Sherlock, and you broke it," Sherlock's brother explained. "Next time, I will tell mummy, and you know exactly what she’ll do.” 

Sherlock breathed deeply through his nose. “What did you do with it?” he said as calmly as he could. His whole body was vibrating with the urge to explode. 

Mycroft smiled knowingly, amused. “You’re not going to find it, and if you do, you’re not going to want it anymore.” 

Sherlock roared and kicked Mycroft’s desk, chipping off a piece of the wood. He turned and stomped away, back across the room past Mycroft's four-poster bed with its dark blue silk everything. 

“If you had just listened, Sherlock, I wouldn’t have had to do it,” he heard Mycroft say just before Sherlock grabbed the door handle and slammed the door shut as loud as he could, barely catching a glimpse of his brother's fallen expression as the door swung closed. 

Sherlock was going to get his android back, whether Mycroft liked it or not.


	3. "You're not Sherlock."

When John got home from school the next day, the first thing he did was head to his bedroom. He tossed his backpack on his bed, then went to the closet to drag out the android.

The bot’s metal was cold to the touch as John hefted it into his arms and carried it out to the living room. Harry was staying the night over at her friend Clara’s and his dad probably wouldn’t be home until the early hours of morning. 

John’s skin was jumping with anticipation as he let the android slump down onto the sofa. He couldn’t resist running his fingertips along the bot’s pearly cheekbones. With the shades drawn, the shadows in the room made the android’s cheeks look razor sharp. 

John peered around the side of the bot’s head and found the power button behind its ear. He held his breath as he pressed it down. 

The power sign glowed a soft blue and the bot came to life right before John’s eyes. It seemed to take into account its slumped position and it straightened, using its long-fingered hands to push itself off the sofa cushions. When it was in the upright position, it stared at John. 

“You’re not Sherlock,” the android said, bringing its hands up and tenting its fingers just underneath its chin. “I do not recognize you.” 

“I’m John,” said John. “Watson. Hamish.” He took a breath to calm his excitement. “John Hamish Watson,” he corrected. 

“Where is Sherlock?” the robot asked, its eyes scanning the room behind John. It seemed to understand that it wasn’t where it normally would find itself, that he was in a foreign place. 

“I... don’t know. You were, uh... I found you in a junkyard.” 

The robot’s eyes lit on John and it made a buzzing sound that John thought was probably supposed to be a hum. “That explains it, then.” 

“What? How?” 

“Mycroft had threatened Sherlock on many occasions to throw me away. It appears he has finally followed through.” 

John’s mouth fell open in disbelief. “You’re telling me this guy willingly threw you out with the rubbish?” 

“It would appear so, yes.” 

John’s knees were aching from being crouched on the ground and they popped when he stood. “Jesus.” He turned back to the bot. “You’re telling me there’s some guy out there who’s probably looking for you?” 

“Quite likely. If so, he will surely find me.” 

John threw his hands in the air. “Of course he’s got a tracker on you!” 

The android’s eyes glowed brighter for a moment and then dimmed. “Did. He did have a tracker on me. It appears Mycroft had it removed, as well as part of my memory. I can’t recall Sherlock’s address, nor phone number. No matter. If Sherlock is looking for me, he will find me.” 

“What makes you so sure?” 

The android met John’s eyes with its silver lights. “If there is one thing I know for certain, it is that Sherlock will try to find me. After all, nothing would satisfy him more than to find me and show Mycroft.” 

“How do you know?” 

“I know, because I know Sherlock. He tells me everything.” 

“And this Mycroft guy is?” John asked curiously. What the hell kind of names were Sherlock and Mycroft? 

“Sherlock’s older brother.” 

John pressed his lips together and thought over everything he’d just learned. “So wait... you remember everything Sherlock’s ever told you?” 

“Yes.” 

John frowned at the bot. “Shouldn’t Mycroft have deleted that before throwing you out for anyone to find?” 

“Apparently he didn’t know that Sherlock had a separate memory storage built into my left ankle.” 

“And Sherlock didn’t think to leave his contact info there?” 

The android’s lights glowed brighter in the way John had come to realize meant that it was thinking and then it made the buzzing hum sound again. “It would appear that some damage may have been caused in that region.” 

John looked down at the android’s ankle and, sure enough, there was a thin crack from its heel to the peak of its ankle. “I don’t... I don’t know how to repair you or anything, yet,” John admitted. 

“Sherlock will find me,” the android said once more, matter-of-factly. “Sherlock needs me.”


	4. "Where do you keep the androids?"

Sherlock knew before he even checked the computer that his brother had at least thought to turn the android’s tracker off. He hoped his brother hadn’t damaged the android too badly in the process.  
It wasn’t a challenge to find out where the android was taken to. All Sherlock needed to do was think about who his brother would have throw it away and go from there. He knew it would be their housekeeper, Maria, and he knew it was somewhere near where she lived, by the mud on her car in the garage and the fact that there was a salvage yard within a few blocks of her house that would be the first place she thought of when asked to dispose of the android.

When Sherlock arrived at the salvage yard, he saw a man sitting a rusty metal desk with his feet propped up on top of it as he leaned back in his chair looking at a magazine with naked and curvaceous women on the pages. 

The sliding entrance fence was pulled aside to allow entrance and rocks rolled under Sherlock’s feet as he passed through the opening. 

“Where do you keep the androids?” Sherlock asked from a distance, catching the man unaware. He slipped his feet off the desk and placed the magazine over his lap. 

“There was one in one of those piles over there,” the old man said, waving his hand over toward the heaps of rubbish, “but someone broke in here last night and stole it. Bloody coppers said there weren’t nothing they could do about it.” The man scratched at his gray beard flecked with white, then went back to looking in the magazine. 

Sherlock rolled his eyes in annoyance. “You only had the one?” 

The man nodded, not taking his eyes off the magazine. “Fucker yanked it right out, too. Toppled two piles I spent a lot of time organizin’.” 

Sherlock glanced over at the rubbish littering the ground and bunched his eyebrows together. Even he had no clue what the man’s method of organization was, judging by the randomness of all the items. “Did you see the intruder at all?” 

The old man sighed in annoyance and lowered the magazine to peer at Sherlock with suspicion written all over his face. “Leapt right over that face like some kind of bunny rabbit,” he said, pointing at a fence across the lot. 

Sherlock crossed the lot, ignoring the man calling after him. Sunlight filtered in through the trees, blinding him momentarily until he was near the fence. He walked carefully, seeing right away the footsteps ground into the dirt leading from the fence to the rubbish piles, then back and over the fence. Men’s size 9; 160, give or take two, pounds; small in build, perhaps 5’6”. 

“If you’re not gonna buy anything, I’m gonna hafta ask you to leave,” the old man said, standing a few feet away and peering at Sherlock like he was mad or something. 

Sherlock huffed a sigh and turned to leave when something in the grass caught his eye. He stepped over to the fence and stooped down to retrieve the torn piece of denim. As he was bent squatted down, Sherlock spotted dirt on the fence’s links. He pinched a little between his fingertips, felt the texture and took a sniff, then sprinkled it off his hands onto the ground before rising. Dirt from the rugby field of the nearby high school. 

With a satisfied smirk, Sherlock turned away from the fence and brushed past the old man on his way to find who made off with his android.


	5. "Goodnight, John."

Later that night, after John had finished his homework and eaten leftovers from the night before, he had the android follow him to his bedroom. He walked to his bedroom door and turned around to watch as the robot trailed after him. He was surprised by how fluid the bot’s movements were as it came to him and he couldn’t take his eyes off of it.

Once in his bedroom, John locked the door and sat cross-legged on top of his bed and suggested the bot sit in the chair in front of his desk. The robot listened and crossed his room to sit on the dark blue chair. 

He’d been asking the android questions all day about it’s creator. It answered most of his questions, telling John that Sherlock was 16, had black hair, was (obvious, considering the quality of the android’s pieces) rich, hated school, didn’t really have friends, and was a genius. 

John was fascinated by the android’s previous owner, as well as the android itself. He couldn’t get over how well done the work on the bot was. Its movements were only slightly mechanical, only noticeable if you were watching intently, and it was perfectly capable of holding conversation. John found himself forgetting sometimes that he was talking to something that wasn’t even human. 

There were times when John would ask a question and the android seemed unable to answer. Its eyes would brighten as if it were searching for the information to respond, but it simply wasn’t there to respond with. It happened mostly when John asked about Sherlock’s older brother and it frustrated him to no end. 

“It’s like the guy’s a government agent or something," John groaned. "Is he a spy?” he asked excitedly. 

The android hummed thoughtfully, then its eyes dimmed. “I do not know.” 

John sighed and laid flat on his back. His body was still adjusting to the rigorous training it was put through in rugby training and his bones felt like they were aching along with his muscles. He sank into the mattress and closed his eyes. 

“Do you think Sherlock would like me?” he asked eventually. 

The way the robot described Sherlock, the teen sounded like an intelligent arse, and John had a feeling that the boy would be disappointed by him once he finally found him. The thought upset John, though he couldn’t exactly explain why. For some reason, he wanted the boy to like him. From what John had heard, the human Sherlock wasn’t afraid to speak his mind, and John liked that. 

"I do not know," the bot said. 

John’s exhaustion started to catch up to him and he yawned. “You can lay down beside me if you want,” he told the android with his eyes still closed. He waited until he heard movement and the bed dipped beside him before he opened them to peer at the android. It laid down on the mattress and John propped himself up on an arm. The android had told him earlier that it could be charged by a power outlet and John popped open the back of the android’s neck to stretch out the cord inside so he could charge it. 

With another yawn, John laid back down on the bed facing the android and he studied the bot’s silvery profile. It was really quite beautiful and he'd spent a lot of the day admiring that fact. “Can I touch you?” John asked. 

The android turned its head and seemed to study his face with its brightly glowing eyes. “Yes.” 

John extended his hand to run his fingertips over the sleek, curved metal of the android’s cheekbone. The fact that it was cold still managed to take John by surprise and he rested his palm across the android’s cheek. “Can you feel that?” he asked softly. 

“I am able to detect when and where I am being touched,” the robot informed him, matching the volume of John’s voice. 

“Did Sherlock ever touch you just to do it?” 

“Sometimes he would give me a kiss goodnight.” 

John giggled. “Right here?” he asked, brushing his thumb over the smooth surface of the android’s pearly cheek. 

“On my lips.” 

“Would it be okay if I did that, too?” John asked, his curiosity getting the best of him. 

“Yes.” 

John smiled and cupped his hand around the android’s cheek as he leaned in. He pressed his lips softly to the android’s cupid’s bow lips. They were almost soft and cold to the touch. John laid back down facing the bot. “Goodnight, Sherlock,” he whispered. 

“Goodnight, John.” 

John reached out and depressed the power button. The android shut off in seconds and John soon followed.


	6. "Can I help you?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the short chapter! I hope you like it!

Sherlock stood leaning up against a tree as he waited for the school bell to ring. When it finally did, he watched as the students quickly made their escape from the large grey building. They flooded the school grounds like ants and Sherlock studied each student that passed him by.

Some of the boys matched the height, some the gait, and the rare few even bore the same treads on their trainers, but it wasn’t until the final students were trickling out that he found the perfect match for the footprints. 

The boy clutched one strap of his backpack while his other hand was tucked into one of his jacket pockets. The sunlight glinted off his short straw-colored hair, making it glow like a halo. His gaze was set straight ahead as he walked the pavement leading off of the school grounds, his posture straight and shoulders back. 

Sherlock followed the boy at a distance all the way to his small, rectangle-shaped house. When they got there, the boy unlocked the door and slipped inside and, as Sherlock quickly hurried toward the door, threw the lock. 

Sherlock froze on the doorstep. Huh. He hadn’t thought this far. He stood awkwardly on the front porch for a few seconds before he decided to circle around the house to find a window. The shades were drawn over the living room window, so he went around to the back of the house, where there was a higher window that he was just shy of being able to reach. 

He went back to the front of the house and retrieved a flower pot beside the porch, then walked back around the house to the boy's window. He upturned the pot and stepped on top, gripping the window ledge with his fingertips. He pulled himself up and stood on tiptoes to peer inside. 

It was the boy’s bedroom. His bedroom door was closed and he was rifling around in his closet, his backpack discarded on the bedroom floor and his jacket tossed half-hazardly over the back of his desk chair. As Sherlock watched, the boy grabbed the bottom of his shirt and pulled it off, then shoved it into a laundry hamper, followed soon after by a pair of jeans, which were dirty and frayed around the cuffs. 

Sherlock stared at the boy’s body, unable to resist. His calves were carved and his thighs were thick with muscle, and his dark blue boxer-briefs covered a beautifully curved arse. Sherlock imagined placing his hands on the boy's hips and holding him close. 

The boy grabbed a towel and left the room, closing the door with a click behind him. Sherlock sank down onto his heels and swallowed thickly. There was a foreign feeling twisting in his belly and his cheeks felt heated. 

Disappointed in himself for being affected so easily, Sherlock decided to just get this whole situation over with. He pried his fingers under the window and tried to tug it outward, but the window was locked and the sudden shift of the pot in the dirt sent Sherlock crashing to the ground, knocking the wind out of him. 

He sat up quickly and gasped for air, glancing around in embarrassment. He was well hidden by the wooden fence around the perimeter of the property. He grunted as he pushed himself to standing and dusted the dirt off his clothes. 

The sound of the boy’s bedroom door closing caught Sherlock’s attention and he spent two seconds debating the morals of the situation before he pulled himself back up to look in the window. He quickly dropped back down upon seeing the boy toweling off, because his cock gave a twitch in his jeans, attempting at an erection that he wasn’t willing to deal with at the moment. 

Sherlock kicked the flower pot in frustration and the brown ceramic cracked down the side. With throbbing toes, he circled back around to the front door and banged his fist on the wood before he could change his mind. He waited for the boy to answer for less than a minute before he heard the shuffling on the other side of the door and a pause where the boy most likely looked through the peephole. There was a long moment, then the door was unlocked and the boy cracked open the door to peer out at Sherlock with nearly grey blue eyes. 

“Can I help you?” the boy asked, his voice sounding fake in its warmth. 

“Yes you can, actually. I would like you to give me back my android,” Sherlock said. 

The boy cleared his throat and straightened his posture. “You're Sherlock.” 

Sherlock smiled. He was glad he hadn't watched the boy dress, because the twisting feeling in his belly was already overwhelming enough . “What gave it away?”


	7. "I'm taking my android back."

The human Sherlock pushed past John and headed straight for his room.

“What are you doing?” John called out, following quickly after him. He stepped in front of him just before Sherlock reached the hallway and put his arms out, blocking Sherlock from going any further. 

“I’m taking my android back,” Sherlock said, frowning at John. “Now get your hands off me.” 

John dropped his hands but stood his ground. “You know, technically the android is mine,” he said. 

“Technically? How can it possibly be your’s?” 

“Possession is nine-tenths of the law,” John said. 

Sherlock slit his nearly colorless grey eyes at John. “It’s mine! I bought the parts, I built it; it bloody looks just like me!” 

“Eh,” John said. “So so.” 

“What do you mean so so? I was able to trick my brother into believing that it was me, that’s how much it looks like me.” 

“Is your brother blind, perchance? The thing looks like metal!” 

Sherlock’s eyes widened. “What have you done to it?” Sherlock said. He shoved past John and hurried the rest of the way to John’s room. He glanced quickly around the small room before going for the closet. He threw the door open and gasped when he saw the android curled up on the floor inside. He turned eyes that could melt metal on John. “What did you do?” he roared. 

John stepped back. “What do you mean what did I do? I didn’t do anything!” 

Sherlock went into the closet and dragged the android out from the shadows. Once out again, he held it in front of himself and looked it up and down. “Do you realize how much work you’ve flushed down the drain? I’m going to kill Mycroft!” 

Sherlock began dragging the android toward the door and John interceded once again. “What are you talking about? I didn’t do anything to him!” 

Sherlock glared at him. “Then why is it silver? It shouldn’t be bloody silver!” 

John looked at Sherlock in confusion. “That’s not how he normally looks?” 

Sherlock scoffed. “Of course that’s not how it normally looks! It’s supposed to look like my exact double - exact!” 

“He looks a lot like you, mate,” John said carefully. 

Sherlock growled and turned around with the android. He propped it on the foot of his bed so that it was sitting and pressed in the power button, muttering under his breath, “what else have you ruined?” 

John worried the inside of his bottom lip as the android Sherlock came to life. 

“Hello, Sherlock, I see you’ve found me. John has taken good care of me. I like him.” 

Sherlock gaped at the android. “The speed of its speech has returned to factory settings and it appears to be forming its own opinions again...” Sherlock murmured. “The camouflage interface has been damaged.” 

“What’s that?” 

Sherlock sighed heavily. “The metal that makes up this android has abilities similar to that of a chameleon or a cuttlefish where it can mimic the colors around it to fit in or, rather, disappear. I wanted to give it the ability to mimic whatever shape I chose, so I could make it look like whomever I wanted, but Mycroft threatened to tell Mummy and have my funds denied to me.” Sherlock huffed. “The android is supposed to share my exact coloring.” 

John watched as Sherlock popped open the androids faceplate and began tinkering around inside. “It must have been damaged in the junkyard,” John supplied. 

Sherlock ignored him. 

“I’m not an complete idiot, you know. I’ve been studying the mechanics of androids since I was a child. I’ve just never seen one this advanced before.” 

“Since your mother died? She must have been dying of something where there was enough time to save her, had she had the right kind of doctor, yes? And now that’s what you want to do, right? Save people by replacing their damaged parts with indestructible ones?” 

“How do you...” 

“Obvious. This house clearly lacks a woman’s touch. She must’ve died years ago, then. And yes, I know she died, because there’s a picture of her with you and your brother, not your father, because he’s an alcoholic and your mother doesn’t approve, and she’s clearly dying.” 

John frowned. “I don’t have a brother.” 

“Sister? Damn. It was the haircut, the clothes. Head lice?" 

John shook his head. "She just likes her hair short." 

"Did I get everything else right?” Sherlock looked at John hopefully. 

“Yes,” John said. “My mother could have been saved with a new heart and lungs, but the doctors... it was risky to begin with, she was in such bad condition, but they nicked her heart and she didn’t make it.” 

Sherlock paused his tinkering inside the androids head and turned back to John. “I’m supposed to apologize, right?” 

“Don’t. You didn’t know her and you could care less. You’re more of a machine than your android," John said, with a look of disappointment on his face. "Take him and go.” 

“You keep calling it ‘him’. Why is that?” 

“What?” John asked, slitting his eyes at Sherlock. 

“The android. It’s a machine, like you said, it doesn’t have gender, but you keep calling it ‘him’.” 

“Yeah, well, it looks like a man, it sounds like a man, it says it’s a man, so it’s a man.” 

Sherlock frowned at that. “It says what I’ve coded it to say. If I coded it to say female, than it would say it was female.” 

“Then I would call him female.” John crossed his arms. “What are you getting at?” 

“You’re attracted to my android.” 

“What? No. Nope. It’s... why would you think that?” 

“Because you’re attracted to me. Also, it slept in your bed last night.” 

“What? How could you possibly know that?” 

Sherlock pointed to the bed. “The pillows. There are two, one on each side of the bed, both clearly slept on.” 

“That could have been anyone.” 

“You have an android worth near a million pounds in your bedroom that isn’t yours. I doubt you’re going to risk anyone finding out.” 

“Jesus,” John said. “A million... Christ! And your brother just threw it out? That’s... that’s insane! Christ! A million? Why did it cost so much?” 

“It’s the first of its kind. No other android has a camouflage interface like it. It also has the ability to repair itself. The android must have hit its head at some point, but there is no damage to be seen.” 

John leaned forward and looked at the androids brow ridge where the crack had been, but it was no longer there. “If it can repair itself, why is it still silver then?” 

"There are some things its unable to repair, because I haven’t had the time to install the coding for it to do so.” Sherlock did something inside the androids head and its body began to glow a bright silver. A moment later, the light faded and the android was suddenly the same milky white as Sherlock. 

“Jesus,” John said. “It even looks like your hair.” 

“Touch it.” 

“What?” John gaped. 

“Touch the androids hair.” 

John frowned, but his curiosity got the best of him and he reached out tentatively to brush his fingers over the android's hair. It felt silky and moved under his touch. John yanked his hand back. “How?” he asked, looking at Sherlock, awestruck. 

“That’s part of the camouflage interface. The perception filter allows you to see what you want to see and feel what you want to feel.” 

“Can I?” John asked, holding his hand toward Sherlock. 

Sherlock stared at him, confused for a moment, before he finally understood what it was John was asking. He swallowed and nodded. 

John ran his fingers through the human Sherlock’s hair and his breath caught in his throat. “It’s not completely the same; your hair is much softer.” 

“Yes, but if you touch its hair now, it will be. It senses your intent, knows what you expect to feel, and so it allows you to feel that.” 

“And you did all of it?” 

Sherlock nodded. 

“That’s... brilliant. You’re amazing!” 

Sherlock’s face lit up and he glanced away as if shy. “Mycroft hates it.” 

“I kind of guessed," John said with a smile. 

Sherlock grinned back. “Would you like to get some lunch? I’m starving.”


	8. "You're uncomfortable."

John chewed his food quietly as Sherlock and Sherlock sat watching him. He took a sip of water and cleared his throat, feeling awkward, and continued eating his spaghetti. He’d been hungrier than he’d thought and had ordered the first thing off the menu with lots of delicious garlic bread. After too long of being watched without a word being spoken, John set down his fork and swiped a napkin at the corners of his lips before dropping the cloth on the table.

“So...” 

“You’re uncomfortable,” Sherlock, the human one, said. 

“Well, yeah, you’ve been staring at me since we got here,” John retorted. “Have you even blinked? I know he hasn’t,” John says, gesturing toward the android. Its eyes look almost exactly like Sherlock’s, except there’s the dimmest, almost imperceptible light glowing behind them. 

“You are very expressive,” the android said. “I enjoy watching you.” 

John blushed and took a sip of his soda to hide his smile. 

“Good god,” Sherlock said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I can’t wait to get you home to fix your thought filter.” 

“I like it,” John admitted as he set his glass down on the rich blue table cloth. Sherlock had been the one to choose the restaurant. John had tried to steer him to a more poor-friendly McDonald’s, but Sherlock had refused and told John that he would pay. 

Sherlock looked up at John and studied his face with a confused look on his face. “Why?” 

John shrugged. “I like knowing what people are thinking.” 

“Sherlock is not a person,” Sherlock reminded him. 

“You're talking about yourself in the third person now?” John said, raising an eyebrow with a pleased smile on his lips. 

“You know what I meant!” Sherlock said, sounding exasperated. 

“Well, I think you should call him something else.” 

“What’s the point? It doesn’t even need a name.” 

John picked his fork back up. He spun it around in the spaghetti, gathering up a mouthful. “Fine, just keep calling him Sherlock, then. He’s not mine anymore, so it doesn’t matter, anyway.” 

John ate another bite and Sherlock stared at him as he did. 

“Sherrinford.” 

John and Sherlock looked over at the android. “What?” John asked carefully around his mouthful. 

“Call me Sherrinford.” 

John glanced at Sherlock. “Sherrinford?” he mouthed. 

“He was my uncle,” Sherlock informed him. “Well, not necessarily. An uncle in the way that your parents’ great friends are considered relatives.” 

“Mind if I ask why he chose it?” 

“He was the one person that never looked at me like I was a freak,” Sherlock said, looking into his glass of water. He eventually picked it up and took a drink, then set it back down. “Are you ready to go?” he asked, eyeing John's empty plate. 

John nodded and they all three rose to go. Sherlock pulled out his wallet and dropped money on the table and they headed out together. Once they were out on the sidewalk, John glanced over at Sherlock, unsure of what was going to happen then, whether or not they were headed back to his house or if they were parting ways there and then. He felt strangely lonely standing there knowing this might be the last time he ever saw Sherlock and Sherrinford. 

“Do you want to sleep over?” John asked before he’d thought it through. 

Sherlock looked from the street to John with his mouth slightly parted and his eyebrows pushed together. “Why would I want to do that?” 

A blush blazed across John’s cheeks and he shrugs. “I just thought maybe we could get to know each other better, is all. I like you guys, even though you’re a bit of an arse.” 

Sherlock studied John’s face, as if he suspected him of lying. “How about my house?” Sherlock said. “I have something you might like to see.” 

John looked up at Sherlock and realized just how close they were standing to each other. Fingers touched the back of his hand and they were cold. He glancee back and Sherrinford smiled down at him. “You can sleep in my bed this time,” he said, looking pleased. His fingers grew warm against John's skin. 

“Okay,” John nodded. “I need to get my stuff first.” 

* * *

John’s house was quiet when they got there. Sherlock and Sherrinford followed him to his bedroom and he felt them watching as he sifted through his clothes to retrieve pyjamas and an outfit for the following day. Normally he slept in nothing or his pants, so it took him awhile to find his blue striped pyjama bottoms. 

Once he had his clothes all stored away in a backpack, he lead the way to the kitchen where he quickly scribbled a note for Harry and his father, letting them know where he was. 

As they stepped outside, a sleek black car pulled up to the curb. The driver got out and circled around to the back where he opened and held the door wide for them. 

“After you, John,” Sherlock said. 

John stared through the door for a moment before he slid onto the back seat. “God,” John said once Sherlock and Sherrinford joined him in the backseat. “I should have known you’d have a driver.” 

The twins chuckled and John’s body filled with warmth at the sound. He turned and watched as they passed through the city on the way to Sherlock’s house. And if he blushed when Sherrinford’s pinky brushed against his as he laid his hand down on the seat, or when Sherlock, seated across from him, bumped his foot against John’s, neither of them noticed.


	9. "Your heart rate is increasing."

It was late by the time they got to Sherlock’s house; the sky was an inky blue. John was wiped out, exhausted from rugby practice that day. All he wanted to do was sleep, but... well, he was in the house of a boy he’d barely known for a few hours and, apparently, he seemed to also have a bit of a crush on the guy.

Sherlock was different. He could be eerily quiet for long periods of time, he could talk a mile a minute, and he could take anyone apart in seconds flat. He was also bloody gorgeous, especially when he allowed a smile on his full lips, and, despite the fact that he seemed cool and collected, the second John said something even slightly complimentary, Sherlock became shy. He wouldn’t be able to meet John’s eyes and there was a softness to his features that made John want to keep telling Sherlock just how brilliant he was. 

The house was 3 storeys and painted charcoal. Inside, everything looked shiny and new, even though a lot of them were probably antiques. Whatever wasn’t made of a rich, dark wood was made of glass or porcelain. John felt completely out of place there, though he soon stopped caring about that. 

“You’re tired,” Sherlock said behind him. John turned from gaping through the sitting room archway and found Sherlock watching him with a small smile turning up one corner of his mouth. “Let me show you to my room.” 

John huffed a laugh. “People might talk,” he said. Sherrinford laughed warmly and Sherlock softly. 

Not one stair creaked as they ascended toward Sherlock’s room. There were pictures lining the staircase, each one a picture of someone else. They ranged from painting to faded photographs to glossy pictures; old and new. It wasn’t until he got to the top that he found one with Sherlock on it. He paused on the stairs and studied the picture. It was of Sherlock and a man in about his 30’s. He had a slightly scruffy, peppered chin, soft looking black hair with subtle waves, and a laughing smile that lit his face and crinkled his eyes. Sherlock, perhaps 7 years old, stood beside him in front of a lake holding a frog by one foot. He was covered in mud from the waist down and the rest of him was soaking wet. Sherlock also had a proud smile on his young face. 

“My uncle Sherrinford,” Sherlock informed him, answering John’s unasked question. “The frog was dead in the water and he said I could dissect it if only I got it myself.” 

“How did he die?” John asked carefully, studying the way the man’s head was thrown back. He could almost hear the man’s laughter, the loud bellows echoing in his head. 

“His wife died from a brain aneurysm. No more than a week later, he was dead. My mother says he died of heartbreak. My father said it was a suicide.” 

“What do you think it was?” 

“Caring is not an advantage,” Sherlock said, like they were words he’d recited to himself many times before. 

“True,” John told him, finally turning to look at him. “But it feels nice to care about someone who cares for you back. Have you never had a girlfriend?” 

“Sherlock has never dated anyone. He tries to keep himself divorced from his emotions,” Sherrinford said. 

John frowned. “That sounds lonely.” 

“That’s why he made me,” said the android. “Right, Sherlock?” 

“I made you," Sherlock said, "because two brilliant minds are better than one.” 

“I didn’t know you were so modest,” John said. 

Sherrinford’s eyes began to glow faintly and Sherlock sighed. “Sometimes it is able to pick up on sarcasm, but sometimes it doesn’t. He was joking,” Sherlock informed Sherrinford. The android chuckled. 

“We really aren’t,” Sherrinford said. “Sherlock enjoys showing off. That’s the frailty of genius: it needs an audience.” 

The longer the conversation went on, the sadder John began to feel, so he decided to change the subject completely. He turned to Sherlock. “You said there was something you wanted to show me that you thought I might like?” 

“Oh yes. This way,” Sherlock said. He started down the hall and John and Sherrinford followed behind. As they were walking, John felt Sherrinford’s hand slip into his and he blushed. 

“Your heart rate is increasing,” Sherrinford told him as they walked. 

“I’m excited to see what Sherlock is going to show me,” John said, though that wasn’t just it. Sherrinford had been flirting with him pretty much all night and John was embarrassingly starting to get aroused by it. He couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that, if Sherlock wasn’t so closed off to emotions, he would be the same way. 

Sherrinford’s hand was warm to the touch and soft curled around his. John couldn’t help resting his fingers on Sherrinford’s wrist, just to make sure there wasn’t a heartbeat there. 

He released Sherrinford’s hand just before they got to the end of the hall and Sherlock stopped in front of a door. He glanced over his shoulder at John with an almost shy smile before he turned the doorknob and entered. 

The first thing John noticed was how large the room was. It had a high, vaulted ceiling and four long windows that almost reached from floor to ceiling. Next, he noticed the wires, the bolts, and the metal body parts. There were computer chips, LED lightbulbs, and a large, open blue toolbox. The room looked like a cluttered mess at first glance, but upon blinking a couple times and having a few moments to take it all in, John was able to see that it was actually controlled chaos. There were tables lined up next to each other with just enough space for Sherlock to stand between them and each was cluttered with items that belonged together. 

John stared in awe at the room, his breath caught in his throat, until Sherlock lightly touched the back of his hand. 

“John?” 

“Yes?” he croaked. John cleared his throat. “Yeah?” 

Sherlock’s eyes fell away and he looked at the room with his hands in the pockets of his belstaff coat. “I would not be averse to sharing the use of my lab and everything in it with you.” 

John’s mouth parted and he looked over at Sherlock, whose eyes glanced over at him nervously. “I couldn’t possibly,” John said, shaking his head. “That’s way too much money, Sherlock. No, I can’t.” 

“I’m telling you that you can,” Sherlock said, turning to face him head on. “I... enjoy your company, John, and there’s plenty to go around.” 

John gaped at Sherlock, then at Sherrinford, who wore a big, goofy smile, then finally at the rest of the room. “You barely even know me,” he breathed. 

“I know you quite well,” Sherlock said. “Just not for very long. There’s a difference.” 

“But why?” John asked, looking over at Sherlock. “Why, of all people, would you want to be around me?” 

“Because you like my android,” Sherlock said, and his slow building smile crinkled his eyes, making him look a lot like the boy in the photograph John had seen earlier. 

John giggled. “He seems to like me quite a lot, too.” 

Sherrinford quirked his head. “It is my understanding that we all like each other,” he said. 

John’s cheeks warmed and he caught Sherlock’s ears turning a bit pink. “Alright. Now that we’ve got that settled, I think I should really get some sleep.” 

* * *

As it turned out, Sherrinford’s bed was also Sherlock’s. It was a rather large bed, decked out with a bunch of pillows and a down, olive green comforter. 

Sherlock went to the cabinet and pulled out a pair of silky purple pyjama bottoms and an extra large black t-shirt. He turned his back on John and stripped off his clothes, revealing his long, pale limbs. His skin looked so smooth and soft. John wanted to reach out and run his hands over the expanse of his back, just to see how it felt. 

John dressed quickly in his pyjama bottoms and a light blue t-shirt, then walked over to the bed. “Umm... who’s sleeping where?” 

“I, on the left,” Sherrinford said. “Would you like to sleep in the middle?” 

John shrugged as nonchalantly as he could, but his skin felt like it was vibrating and every hair felt as if it was standing on end. He climbed onto the bed and crawled to the middle, then flopped down on his front. There was a situation in his pants he didn’t want to have to explain away. 

Sherlock slipped into the bed quietly beside him and soon he was boxed in on both sides. John couldn’t breathe well with his face pressed into the pillows this way, so he turned his head to face Sherrinford. 

“You radiate quite a lot of body heat,” Sherrinford said. 

“It has heat sensors,” Sherlock explained from behind him. 

“Is there anything he doesn’t have?” John asked. 

“A heart?” Sherlock queried. 

“Sherlock says he doesn’t have one, either,” Sherrinford told John. 

John turned to face Sherlock. “You have a heart,” John said. “You’re letting me use your lab when you don’t have to. That’s a really nice thing to do, Sherlock.” 

Sherlock replied by turning onto his side, facing away from John. He frowned, exasperated. Sherrinford’s hand sought John’s under the blanket and John turned to face the android, who was smiling. 

“Sherlock isn’t familiar with compliments, so he doesn’t know how to react to them,” Sherrinford informed him quietly. “Don’t worry. If I like you, Sherlock likes you. We’re the same, remember?” 

John smiled and kissed the android on the forehead. Sherrinford tilted his head back and looked at John’s lips. 

“I have never kissed anyone before.” 

“It’s not in your coding to do so,” Sherlock said from the other side of the bed. 

“Sherlock hasn’t kissed anyone before, either,” Sherrinford said. 

Sherlock remained quiet behind John. 

“You can kiss me if you’d like,” John told Sherrinford. “Just do what I did.” 

Sherrinford smiled and leaned forward. He pressed his metal lips to John’s and they were soft. 

“Your lips are warm,” Sherrinford said against his mouth. “I can feel your heartbeat.” 

John blushed and Sherrinford chuckled. 

“Your lips are getting warmer.” 

John pulled away and cupped Sherrinford’s cheek. “Your lips are warm, too.” 

“Not really,” Sherrinford said. 

“To me they are.” John kissed Sherrinford’s lips again and they remained the same. “Yep,” John nodded. “Definitely warm.” 

“Can Sherlock kiss you, too?” Sherrinford asked. 

John’s cheeks heated even more. “If he wants to, sure.” 

When there was no reaction from Sherlock, Sherrinford called to him. “Sherlock, did you hear that? John said you can kiss him.” 

The room was silent as Sherrinford and John both lay quietly, waiting for Sherlock to respond, but Sherlock was unmoving on the other side of the bed. John smiled, feeling somewhat disappointed. “He must have gone to sleep,” he said. “Ready to power off?” 

“Yes.” 

John gave the android a kiss goodnight before powering him off. 

There was a quiet rustle of cloth as Sherlock shifted in the bed and faced the back of John. “I would like to kiss you for experiment purposes, as well.” 

John smiled and turned over to face Sherlock. “Not because you like me and would like to kiss me?” 

Sherlock studied John quietly for a moment before speaking. “I do believe I would like to kiss you,” he said. 

“Then go ahead,” John told him. 

Sherlock’s eyes met John’s and quickly dropped to his lips. He shifted forward and quickly placed his lips on John’s. 

When Sherlock didn’t do anything besides touch his lips to John’s, John pulled away. “You don’t have to be so stiff. Kiss me, it’s alright.” 

Sherlock surged forward and pressed his lips hard against John’s. His lips caught the side of John’s mouth and he realigned, covering John’s lips with his. Sherlock pressed long, thoughtful kisses to John’s lips over and over, each time for longer than the last, until John caught Sherlock’s bottom lip between his teeth and slid his tongue into Sherlock’s parted mouth. 

Sherlock’s tongue was hot and awkward as it tangled with John’s, but Sherlock learned quickly. Soon he was kissing John back with great fervor, sliding his tongue along John’s and making John tremble with want. His fingers made their way to the back of John’s neck and he slid them into John’s hair, holding John’s head close so he could kiss him more deeply. 

John pulled away and kissed across Sherlock’s face to his ear. “Now that’s fucking kissing,” John whispered into the shell of Sherlock’s ear. “God,” John moaned as Sherlock’s belly rubbed against his growing erection. “Sherlock,” he panted, reluctantly. “We should stop.” 

Sherlock stilled instantly and drew back. “Yes,” he said, his voice rough. “That was certainly enough information.” 

“Oh?” John quirked an eyebrow. “What’s your conclusion, then?” 

“That I would like to kiss you some more.” 

John smiled and turned onto his back. “You can definitely do that. Just as soon as I’ve had some sleep.” 

Sherlock shifted slightly closer to John and laid his head down on John’s pillow. “Hurry up, then,” Sherlock said. 

John laughed. He rolled onto his side to release the pressure on his erection and faced a sleeping Sherrinford. He reached out and held onto the android’s cold fingers and John felt Sherlock’s fingers curl gently around his elbow. Sherlock’s breathing slowed fairly quickly, warm against the back of John’s neck, and John soon followed him and Sherrinford into unconsciousness with a pleasant thrum of warmth pulsing in his chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, what are you guys hoping for when the sex finally ensues?
> 
> *Tell me on here or at my tumblr if you would prefer more privacy: http://whichwolfwins.tumblr.com/
> 
> I hope you're liking it! :D


	10. "Experimental purposes."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is some Sherlock/John/Sherrinford in this chapter. Nothing _too_ kinky. Enjoy! :)

John woke to something very rigid prodding into the small of his back. A blush burned his cheeks when he realized he was just as hard and pressing into the person in front of him. John’s heart skipped upon realizing that it was Sherlock in his arms, not Sherrinford.

“Um... Sherlock?” John whispered, hoping Sherlock wasn’t awake. His arm was trapped underneath Sherlock’s lithe frame and his hard cock was nudging between Sherlock’s arse cheeks. 

“Yes?” Sherlock answered, sounding wide awake. John barely kept from groaning from sheer embarrassment. The small part of his mind that wasn’t pleading for John to get out of the bed and make some sort of excuse to leave as soon as possible wondered how long Sherlock had been laying there, wrapped in John’s arms. 

“Did you turn Sherrinford on?” John asked. He was trapped between Sherlock’s bum and Sherrinford’s apparent erection and didn’t know what to do. 

“It seems you did,” Sherlock said, the amusement in his voice apparent. John glared at the back of Sherlock’s head as he began to chuckle. He could feel Sherlock’s laughter vibrating through his body and it only made him harder. Sherlock froze when John’s cock twitched and John squeezed his eyes closed, hoping this was a all just a dream. 

He pulled his arm out from beneath Sherlock and shifted awkwardly between Sherlock and Sherrinford until he was on his back. He glanced over at Sherrinford and saw that his eyes were still closed. “You made him... fully functional?” 

“Experimental purposes,” Sherlock explained. 

John furrowed his brow at the back of Sherlock’s head of curls. What did that mean? “Have you… you know?” he asked, cheeks blazing. 

“Had sex with it?” Sherlock asked, glancing over his shoulder at John. “Yes.” He said it as if it was perfectly normal. 

“Isn’t that a little… creepy?” 

“It’s just like a blow-up doll or a dildo,” Sherlock said. 

John frowned. “Um… no, it’s not. He looks just like you, for one thing, and he can talk. Sherlock, he has his own opinions.” 

“His opinions are my opinions,” Sherlock told him haughtily. “If you’re worrying about consent, John, don’t. Sherrinford and I both agreed that we could benefit from the data.” 

John really did groan this time. “Of course,” he grumbled. 

Sherlock sighed heavily. “What is it, John?” he asked, turning over to face John. The bulge passing underneath the blanket as he did didn’t fail at catching John’s attention and John swallowed hard. It seemed he and Sherrinford weren't the only ones who'd been affected. 

“Nothing,” John said quickly, avoiding Sherlock’s gaze burning into the side of his head. 

Sherlock was quiet for a long moment before John felt the bed dip. Sherlock leaned up on one arm and looked down at John. “I know what this is about,” he said, looking John in the eyes. 

John’s eyebrows went up. “Oh?” 

"You’re confused," Sherlock explained. "You’re sexually attracted to me, a male, and an android that is also, technically, male.” 

John swallowed and looked over at Sherlock, feeling vulnerable with him towering above him. “And?” 

“And…” Sherlock said, watching his face closely. “You don’t know how to deal with it, because they’re both interested in you, too.” 

“Are they?” John asked, a smile stretching his lips. 

Sherlock studied John’s face and he looked just as vulnerable as Sherlock felt. They were still for a moment, neither of them saying a word, before John couldn’t keep his hands to himself any longer and reached up toward Sherlock. He cupped Sherlock’s face in his hand. “Come down here,” he said, his voice suddenly rough. 

Sherlock’s eyes widened and his mouth parted to say something, but he seemed to change his mind and leaned toward John. His eyes remained open. 

“You’re wrong,” John said, tracing Sherlock’s plump bottom lip with his thumb. He could feel Sherlock tremble in his arms and it made him feel a little more confident that this was okay. “It’s not about that, though I definitely didn’t see it coming. It’s just… of course you would see sex as just something to get data from. But it’s more, Sherlock. It can be so much more. It can be a way for people to be closer to each other, to show someone how much you care for them. But I don’t mind if you experiment on me a little.” 

Sherlock didn’t say anything. He just blinked and moved closer to John until their noses bumped together. His breath was warm against John’s mouth for what felt like an eternity before he covered the hair's breadth between them. “You said I could kiss you once you had some sleep. Is that still alright?” he asked, his soft lips brushing against John’s as he spoke. “Experimental purposes?” 

John nodded and it gave him the contact he wanted. Sherlock leaned into the touch and kissed him. 

It was different from the night before. It was slow and careful and exploratory, but it felt completely new, as well. It felt like it was leading up to something more. John slid his hand down Sherlock’s back, feeling ribs and the lean musculature that led to his waistband. He settled his hand on Sherlock’s hip and followed Sherlock’s lead. 

Long, trembling fingers found their way to John’s shoulders. He ran his hands down, down over John’s chest. His fingers slid over the peak of John’s nipples and John gasped, tossing his head back into the pillows. His cock twitched and Sherlock pulled away, looking very intrigued. He moved his hands up from John’s abdomen and smiled when John squirmed under his experimental touch. His nipples were hardened peaks by the time Sherlock was done caressing them through the cloth of his t-shirt. 

“Sherlock, if you’re going to do something, please just… hurry,” John managed to say, though he was quickly becoming breathless. “I can’t…” 

With wide eyes, Sherlock covered John with all of him. His erection pressed into John’s hip, the cloth already damp with pre-come. John rolled his hips upward, seeking any friction he could find. 

John’s foot grazed against Sherrinford’s calf and he froze. Sherlock stilled above him and looked at him, concerned. “All right?” he asked. 

John groaned. “What about Sherrinford?” 

A frown pushed down Sherlock’s blood-plump lips. “What about it?” 

“He’s right there,” John said, trying to get control of himself. “I can’t just…” 

Sherlock sighed and dismounted. His erection was prominent and John couldn’t resist running a finger up Sherlock’s long thighs to tease the fabric, tightening it over the plump, damp tip. Pre-come darkened the silky purple fabric. 

“Do you want… do you want me to power him on?” Sherlock asked, looking down at John. His pupils were beautifully wide and his cheeks were flushed. 

“He’s you, remember? He knows exactly what you like.” 

Sherlock’s breaths were controlled pants as he leaned over John and disengaged the power button behind Sherrinford’s ear. The android opened his eyes and looked over at Sherlock and John. He made a soft humming noise, processing the situation, before sitting up. “You’re both aroused." 

John chuckled. “We’re not the only ones.” 

Sherrinford looked down at his lap, then back at Sherlock and John. “I’ve missed something.” 

“John has agreed to allow us to experiment on him,” Sherlock said. “Care to join?” 

A grin crossed Sherrinford’s face and he looked at John. “Can I kiss you again?” 

John smiled back. “Yeah," he croaked. "Yes.” 

Sherrinford quickly did just that. He kissed John hard and John was forced to lay back on the bed. Sherrinford’s hands quickly mapped the expanse of John’s chest and he paused over John’s nipples like Sherlock had, massaging his fingers over the erect bumps. 

It was awkward at first. There were too many limbs, no one knew where to be, and Sherrinford couldn’t seem to stop going back to John’s mouth. But then John shifted slightly and Sherrinford’s cock aligned behind him again and his own erection lined up with Sherlock’s, and suddenly they fit. Sherrinford’s hands ran back and forth over John’s chest and he kissed him while Sherlock held onto his hips to experimentally thrust himself against John. 

Their hands ran all over each other, finding every spot that made their breath hitch. The introduction of Sherlock’s knee between John’s thighs almost sent him over the edge and he clutched at Sherlock with one hand, his fingers spread wide over the small of Sherlock’s back and his fingertips on the curve of his lush arse, while he pressed Sherrinford’s searching mouth into his neck with his other hand. 

He could feel Sherlock’s heart racing against his chest whenever Sherlock kissed him and soon they were both panting against each other’s mouths, racing toward the finish. 

Sherrinford’s hand slid down from John’s chest and mapped it’s way over his belly until his fingers found the single button on John’s pyjama bottoms. He unbuttoned them and pulled John’s cock out from it’s fabric prison, then Sherrinford wasted no time in pulling down the front of Sherlock’s bottoms, too. He wrapped his fingers around John and Sherlock, his hand slick with lube, and began to stroke them with a firm grip. 

The sight of Sherlock’s eyes flying wide before he came was what sent John over the edge. Sherrinford stroked them both and teased his cock against John’s hole through his pyjamas, causing sparks to explode in John’s open eyes. His breath hitched in his chest and he came, pressing back against Sherrinford and his stiff cock. Sherlock kissed him through it, rolling his hips as he held John’s face in his hands. Sherlock was shaking when John came down. Panting, John wrapped his arms around him and Sherrinford held onto Sherlock’s hip, sandwiching John between them. 

Sherlock tucked his forehead against John’s chest and they lay like that, Sherlock shivering like he was cold, until eventually he stilled and Sherlock began breathing the rhythmic breaths of the sleeping. John leaned back and looked down at Sherlock’s dark curls. A smile crossed his face and he brushed Sherlock’s hair out of his face. 

“He didn’t sleep at all last night, did he?” John asked quietly. 

“No,” Sherrinford answered, his mouth against John’s spine. “He was trying to convince himself that you’re only an experiment.” 

“Oh? What am I really?” 

Sherrinford chuckled. “Much more than that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What did you think?


	11. "Shut down."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been struggling my way out of some pretty intense writer's block. I'm very sorry for the wait.

Sherlock glanced up at the sound of the door whooshing closed. John came to a stop just inside the door. His hair was matted down on one side and his pyjamas looked rumpled. He smiled at Sherlock when he noticed him among the android parts and ran his fingers through his hair, attempting to arrange it into some sort of order. “You shouldn’t have let me sleep,” he said, his voice rough with the last dregs of a good night's sleep.

Sherlock went back to his work, pushing aside wires to peer inside the android’s head. “Sherrinford and I agreed that you seemed to need it,” he said. 

The mention of Sherrinford made John peer around the room. “Where is he, by the way?” 

“Hello, John,” the android said from where he was on the table. He was laying front down on the metal table and the back of his head was open. He turned his head to rest it on his other arm, much to Sherlock's annoyance. “Did you sleep well?” 

John’s frowned worriedly and crossed the room to perch on the table beside them. “Very good, thanks,” he answered, peering into the open plate at the back of Sherrinford’s head. “Um… what are you doing?” he asked Sherlock when he prodded at a purple wire. 

“Repairing the damage,” he murmured. There was a clicking sound, then the purple wire started to glow. Sherlock looked up at John with a grin. It was an unexpected peek of the Sherrinford inside Sherlock he tried so hard to conceal. “The wire must have been knocked loose when it received a blow to its head.” 

“What does that do?” John asked, though he suspected he knew what Sherlock had just done. He was surprised by how disappointed it made him. 

Sherlock huffed a sigh and rolled his eyes. He took his hands away. “Not what you think,” he answered as the plate on the back of Sherrinford’s head slid back into place. 

The android looked up at John with a smile. “He’s simply making sure everything is in its proper place. I haven't been able to record data properly since the fall,” Sherrinford informed him. He slid his hand up and John looked at it as Sherrinford showed him the palm of his hand. 

John smiled. Sherrinford was the same, his personality unaltered. John couldn't resist reaching for Sherrinford’s hand. Only hours earlier that hand had been wrapped around both him and Sherlock. The thought made him blush and he gave the hand a squeeze before helping Sherrinford up off the table. “Why didn’t you-” he started, turning to Sherlock, but Sherlock fluttered his hand dismissively in the air. 

“Now that you’re awake, we can get started with your lessons,” he said. He stood up and tugged the flashlight off the side of his head, then walked over to the table in front of the one he’d just been sitting at. He started to clear off the top. “This can be your workspace. I’ve more than enough tools for the both of us.” 

John’s stomach gave a low rumble. “Can’t we eat first?” he asked. “Have you eaten?” 

“Eating’s boring,” Sherlock said without pausing the clattering, loud transportation of tools from one table to the other. 

“Yes, but it’s necessary. I could eat a horse.” 

Sherlock sighed heavily and put down a heavy book with a loud thump that made the remaining tools tremble. “Fine," he said shortly. He turned on his heel and headed for the door and John laughed at his melodramatics as he followed him, Sherrinford following close behind. 

* * *

After eating a bowl of cereal so big his stomach started to hurt, John’s lesson ensued. Sherlock was actually quite a good teacher when he wasn’t huffing in annoyance because John didn’t know something. He hovered behind John’s shoulder, leaning over him sometimes to correct him. The first lesson consisted of explaining which tools were important for what. Sherlock got out an old android that looked like it had been in a car wreck and demonstrated how to use each, then handed John the tools and let him copy his movements. 

John was pretty well informed from his own readings, but kept mum, because he enjoyed the warmth of Sherlock pressed to his back and his breath tickling his ear. Sometimes, Sherlock even took John’s hand in his and guided his instrument to the proper place. Thoughts of that morning kept filling his mind and he did his best to ignore them. Sherlock seemed to want to pretend it had never happened. By the end of the night, John’s palms were damp and his whole body was tingling with want. 

Sherrinford was fairly quiet through the lesson, sitting off to the side with a book in his hand. At one point, he placed a tray with tea on the table beside John and prepared him a cup while observing them. He complimented John on how well he was doing and even brushed John’s hair back from his forehead and dabbed his brow with a napkin. That had stunned John into silence and he felt Sherlock’s body still against him. 

“Shut down,” Sherlock said. 

John turned to look up at Sherlock, but Sherlock ignored him. Sherrinford’s eyes suddenly closed and he stood stock still beside John. 

“What’d you do that for?” John asked as Sherlock moved past him and carried Sherrinford back to his chair. 

He looked down at the book Sherrinford had been reading and frowned. He picked it up and tossed it in the trash. “He’s been reading my mother’s romantic drivel.” 

“There’s nothing wrong with showing affection,” John complained. 

Sherlock ignored him and went over to his own table. Feeling out of his depth, John sighed and set down his tools. “I’m gonna go,” he said. “It’s getting late.” 

“I’ll have our driver drop you off.” 

John huffed a laugh. “Thanks.” He glanced over at the sleeping Sherrinford, then moved toward the door. 

“Take the book,” Sherlock told him. “It’s far more informative than the one you have.” 

John nodded and picked up the heavy book. “Thanks again.” He turned his back to Sherlock. 

“John?” 

“Hmm?” He looked over his shoulder at him. 

“You are going to come back?” 

It took John a moment to answer, taken by surprise was he by the vulnerability he saw on Sherlock’s face. Eventually, he nodded. “Of course. You can’t run me away that easily.” 

Sherlock’s smile was small but warm. “I’ll send you a text letting you know when I’ll be free.” 

“You haven’t got my number,” John reminded him. 

“Shouldn’t be too hard to find,” Sherlock said. 

John barked a laugh. “Bye, Sherlock.” 

“Goodbye, John.” 

John went to Sherlock’s room to retrieve his bag, then went outside to find the sleek black car waiting for him in the drive. He tried to conceal the smile on his face and failed. The driver didn’t acknowledge the look on John’s face and it only made him smile wider. The guy was probably well adapted to weird at this point.


	12. "I beg to differ."

Sherlock and Sherrinford had been working on an experiment involving the textures of different animal furs for the early afternoon when Sherlock caught himself once again glancing toward the clock. Though he was absorbing the information on which furs were roughest, which were the smoothest, and so on, he was also doing his best to ignore the undercurrent of thoughts of John that kept trying to make themselves known. The only communication he'd had with John in the past three days was to text John to make sure John had his number, much to his android's delight.

Annoyed at being so easily distracted, he looked away from the clock and caught the android just turning away from the clock as well. “Can we go see John?” the android asked, it's glowing lights on Sherlock's face. “He should be getting done with rugby practice in 25 minutes.” 

“I know when he gets off at school,” Sherlock said in agitation. The android sat up a little straighter and its eyelids lowered. When the lights of its eyes glowed a little brighter, Sherlock pressed his lips petulantly together and glared back. Sherlock was taken aback when, out of nowhere, the android’s eyebrows pushed together and up and his bottom noticeably peeked out a little further. 

Sherlock gawked at the sight in shock. The android had never tried to use Sherlock’s own manipulative methods on him before. 

“22 minutes,” the android said. 

“Fine!” Sherlock hissed. He stuck the Shih Tzu fur back into the plastic bag titled with the same name and stood. “Let’s go.” 

* * *

John was crossing the field after another arduous day of rugby practice with some of his mates when he spotted two familiar matching figures standing on the other side of the surrounding fence. His heated skin flushed even hotter and he quickly dismissed himself from his group of friends to walk over to them. 

“Hey, Sherlock,” he greeted, hitching his bag further up on his shoulder. “Sherrinford,” he nodded, smiling. “What are you guys doing here?” 

“Nothing else to do,” Sherlock said at the same time Sherrinford smiled back and replied, saying, “we just wanted to see you.” 

Sherlock rolled his eyes, but John smiled in amusement. He unlatched the gate to reach them. “I was actually going to text you when I got home to see if you guys were free today,” he admitted. 

“You don’t shower after rugby because you usually jog home,” Sherlock said. 

John glanced over at him as they began to walk. “What?” 

“You clearly haven’t showered yet,” he said, looking pointedly at John’s sweat-damp hair and the dirt still smudged on his face. “Not because you’re embarrassed to shower in front of the other boys- you have no reason to be- but because you jog home and don’t see the point of showering when you’re just going to get sweaty again. I can tell you jog quite often going by the amount of wear on your shoes, which are fairly new judging by the laces and their impressions. I can tell you’ve recently received an injury, most likely to do with rugby, because when you’re not paying attention, you walk with a slight limp. You probably got the shoes around the same time, because the outstep of your right shoe is a little more worn than the left, suggesting you hold your weight more on that foot.” 

John’s steps had slowed as he watched Sherlock speak and listened attentively. Now he looked ahead of him again and laughed, smiling brightly. “That’s brilliant!” 

Sherlock’s line of thought immediately derailed at the comment. He wasn’t sure he’d ever get used to John’s complimentary outbursts. He glanced over, unable to think of something to say, and saw Sherrinford smile. 

“May I hold your hand?” the android asked from John’s other side. 

John met Sherrinford’s eyes in surprise, then glanced over at Sherlock as if to ask if it was okay. Sherlock ignored them both, fisting his hands in his pockets. John nodded. “Yeah, sure.” 

He slid his arm into the second strap of his backpack so that his shoulders held the weight and offered his hand to the android. When their palms slid together, John took a quick breath. “Christ, your hand is freezing!” 

“Oh!” The android’s eyes flared silvery blue, then his hand warmed in John’s hold until it was just a little warmer than the human’s; room temperature. “I was saving energy,” Sherrinford explained. 

John chuckled. “I don’t mind.” 

“Oh god,” Sherlock groaned. “This is painful.” 

“You’d probably like it more if you let yourself hold my hand,” John said. 

“I don’t want to hold your hand.” 

“I beg to differ,” Sherrinford said with a familiar smirk. 

“Oh, shut up!” Sherlock growled. 

John and the android laughed. “Come on,” John said, holding out his hand toward the teen. “We know you want to.” 

Sherlock yanked his hand out of his pocket and grabbed onto John’s in a huff. 

John laughed. “Better?” 

“You’re an idiot,” Sherlock grumbled. 

John's smile stretched into a grin. “And yet you’re not letting go.” 

Sherlock turned away to hide his smile. 

* * *

When they got to John’s house, it was once again empty. 

“Are you always alone here?” Sherlock asked when John told them no one was there. He saw two sets of keys in the dish beside the front door; John's and presumably his sister Harry's, since there was a sparkly, silver letter 'H' hanging off one of the key rings. 

“More often than not. Dad works until 10 and Harry’s usually at Clara’s. Want something to eat?” he asked, headed for the kitchen. 

“Not hungry,” Sherlock answered, eyeing the curtains intently. 

John paused at the entrance into the kitchen and shrugged. “Alright,” he said, turning around to face them. “I’ll just take a shower then. If you change your mind, go right ahead and make yourself something.” 

Sherlock and Sherrinford stood side-by-side and watched as John walked down the hall, admiring the boy’s strong shoulders and the way his arse looked in his light denim jeans. When John finally disappeared into the bathroom, the android and human glanced at each other and chuckled softly. 

They made their way over to John’s couch and sat down to wait for him. When the water started up, Sherlock wondered what John would say if he asked to join him in the shower, then his cheeks began to burn at the direction his thoughts had gone. He turned toward the t.v. and stared at the black screen. Thankfully they didn’t have to wait for long, because a little over 5 minutes later John stepped out of the steamy bathroom wrapped in a towel. He turned to look at them in the living room and smiled as drops of water ran down his chest, then he continued on his way to his bedroom. 

As they waited for John to get dressed, Sherlock’s mobile started to vibrate in his pocket. He withdrew it and found a text from John. He frowned, confused as to why the teen would be texting, and opened the message. For the second time that day, Sherlock was completely thrown. 

_Is it too early to say that I was thinking of you two in the shower?_

“What is it?” Sherrinford asked, leaning to peer over Sherlock's shoulder. 

Sherlock blinked a few times, trying to process the words he’d just read. He very much wanted to keep the message to himself, which was strange, considering the android knew everything about him, anyway. Sherrinford was Sherlock, when it all came down to it. Biting the inside of his bottom lip, Sherlock tilted the mobile so Sherrinford could read the message. 

Needless to say, when John walked out of his bedroom, he found two very different expressions looking back at him. On Sherrinford, there was a beaming, pleased smile. On Sherlock, he could have sworn he saw fear edging in around the mask of calm Sherlock wore on his face.


	13. "Careful!"

“So,” Sherrinford asked. “Was there anything in particular you wanted us to do?”

John reached for his coat, but he hesitated with his hand hovering over the fabric. “You know what?” he said, drawing his hand back. “How about I make some popcorn and we stay in to watch a movie?” 

His suggestion was met by two very displeased looking faces and he rolled his eyes. “Yep, we’re staying in,” John said. He turned toward the entertainment center and opened the cabinets underneath. They were stocked with movies. Without even seeing the titles, Sherlock presumed most were action films. 

“Any preferences?” John asked as he dropped to his knees to examine the options. He glanced over his shoulder at the frowning faces of his friends with raised brows. 

“Not watching one,” Sherlock suggested. 

John huffed and turned back to the movies, grabbing the first one his eyes saw. “‘Dr. No’ it is,” he said, popping the case open. He quickly turned the t.v. on, put the disc in, then went to the kitchen to make the popcorn. When he came back with a bowl filled with the buttery snack, Sherlock and Sherrinford immediately scooted apart, leaving space for him between them. John huffed a laugh and sat down. 

“Want some?” he asked, offering up the big blue bowl. 

Sherlock took a few pieces and looked to the screen as Sean Connery’s Bond came onto the screen. John quickly got caught up in the story and, much to his surprise, so did Sherlock and Sherrinford, so when Sherrinford’s fingertips came to rest against John’s thigh, he barely noticed. It wasn’t until the android leaned in and grazed his nose along John’s neck that John finally blinked out of the story. 

His cheeks started to burn as Sherrinford pressed his lips to John’s neck and he glanced sideways at Sherlock who seemed not to have noticed yet. Soon Sherrinford was nuzzling behind John’s ear and he bit his bottom lip when Sherrinford opened his damp mouth against John’s neck and began to tease his tongue across John’s skin. 

John’s breath caught when he felt Sherrinford’s hand sneak onto his thigh, but the android stopped there and turned back to the film, leaving his hand dangerously close to the very interested bulge in John’s jeans. They were about a 3rd of the way through the film when John felt Sherlock’s fingertips come to rest lightly against his. He smiled at the screen and left his hand there, uncertain as to whether or not he should try to hold Sherlock’s hand or not. 

John was quickly discovering that, though Sherrinford was supposed to be just an android version of Sherlock, that really wasn’t the case at all, at least not anymore. Where Sherrinford was very open with how he felt, Sherlock was decidedly reserved when it came to his feelings, though he had no trouble speaking his mind about everything else. John felt very sure of himself when it came to responding to Sherrinford, but it was different with Sherlock. Somehow, Sherlock still managed to remain a mystery to him and as much as John enjoyed unravelling him, he didn’t want to scare him away by doing so. 

The movie quickly passed without John’s notice and the credits soon began to roll. John leaned forward and switched the empty popcorn bowl for the remote and sat back down to shut off the telly. Sherrinford’s hand immediately returned to rest on his thigh and John swallowed. 

“So, what did you think?” he asked Sherlock, turning to him with hopeful curiosity and a blush warming his cheeks due to the android’s hand and its close proximity to John’s cock. 

“It wasn’t 100 percent bad,” Sherlock offered with some reluctance. 

John laughed. “You should give more things a chance, Sherlock. You might be surprised by how not 100 bad some things are.” 

John watched as an unabashed smile stretched across Sherlock’s lips and he grinned proudly back. He always felt like he’d done something brilliant when he managed to make Sherlock smile like that. 

Sherrinford’s hand squeezed his thigh gently. “It did turn out well for us the last time,” he supplied. 

John turned toward the android with a smile and his lips were quickly caught up in a kiss. John grunted at the force of it and Sherlock hissed. 

“Careful!” he chastened. 

The android pulled away and its eyes flared brightly in worry. 

“I-” the android began to say, then it made a strange click sound. “I’m sorry.” 

“It’s alright,” John said, eyeing Sherrinford with concern. He reached up and smoothed his hand over the android’s cheek. He guided the android in for a gentler kiss and Sherrinford made a pleasant humming sound against John’s lips. 

“We should get going,” Sherlock suddenly said. John made a sound of complaint and pulled away from Sherrinford to watch as his friend slipped his arms rather roughly into the sleeves of his coat. 

“Sherlock?” John asked, furrowing his brow. 

“I have an experiment that needs my attention,” Sherlock said, wrapping his scarf around his neck while he slipped his shoes on at the same time. 

John frowned, suspecting it was a lie, but he nodded, because clearly Sherlock needed him to go along with it. “Alright,” he said, standing up with Sherrinford. “Well, call when you’re free, yeah?” 

Sherlock nodded. “Goodbye, John,” he said, then he turned and whirled out the door with a swoosh of his coat. 

John walked Sherrinford to the door and they paused to say goodbye in the doorway. The android smiled at him with his eyes glowing warmly. “See you soon, John.” 

“Yeah,” John nodded, feeling like he'd been rejected. He leaned in and gave Sherrinford a soft kiss. “See you.” 

From the doorway, John watched as Sherlock and Sherrinford walked away to an idling black car at the end of his driveway. He closed the door long after they were gone, then leaned against it with a heavy sigh. He was starting to feel like he may be in way over his head.


	14. "I'm starting to reconsider."

Sherlock was sitting at his work table when he got a text from John three days later.

 _Hey Sherlock, haven’t heard from you in a while. Did everything go alright with your experiment?_

Sherlock nearly picked it up to reply Not as well as I’d hoped, but then his eye caught on the android who hadn’t failed to miss the text alert, either, and decided against it. Sherlock ignored the text and went back to his experiment, turning his blow torch back on. 

Another text came in the next day when Sherlock was installing new water resistant panels where his android’s shoulder blades were. Sherlock hesitated before glancing at it, but Sherrinford had already looked at the glowing screen and he couldn’t not know something his android did. 

_Looking for an excuse to not do my homework; want to hang out? This is John, by the way._

_Watson_ , another text quickly popped up. _John Watson._

A smile eased onto Sherlock’s face, but it quickly fell when he saw the matching smile on his android’s mouth. He shoved the phone away and went back to screwing the panel into place. 

A fourth text arrived the following day as Sherlock and Sherrinford were pulling thick book after thick book from the large bookcases in the library closest to his home. Sherlock froze at the sound, but he resisted reaching for his mobile; he didn’t want to talk to John, John didn’t want to talk to him; John wanted Sherrinford. 

“Was that John again?” Sherrinford asked, scanning through another book, then shoving it back into place in the packed bookcase. 

“Hmm?” Sherlock said, fauxing innocence. He slammed the book in his hands closed and pushed it back among the rest. 

“That text. It was from John again, wasn’t it? Why are you ignoring him?” the android asked. It was looking up from the book in it’s hands, furrowing its mechanical eyebrows pensively, its eyes glowing brightly. 

“I’m busy,” Sherlock said, yanking another book from the case and flipping the pages quickly. 

The android made a loud whirring sound and turned away to do the same, turning his- its back to Sherlock. The phone in Sherlock’s pocket felt heavier for the rest of the day and into the next. 

“Can we visit John today?” the android asked when Sherlock was sitting him down for his weekly maintenance check. 

“No,” Sherlock replied, scanning inside the android’s open chest. He jiggled a few wires and ignored the temptation to fix the thought filter and return it to the way it had been, without free will. It was frustrating hearing his own thoughts spoken aloud, as if he wasn’t being tortured with them enough already inside his own head. 

“Why not?” Sherrinford asked, staring at Sherlock with his eye lights brightly glowing. 

Because I’m trying to convince myself I don’t want to spend every moment with him, Sherlock thought instantly, but instead of saying that, he didn’t answer at all. 

The android made a rough humming sound like he had rocks in his chest and turned his face away from Sherlock until Sherlock finally finished and closed his chest panel. Then Sherrinford hopped off the table and strode out of the room, slamming the door with a bang behind him. 

“Sherlock!” he heard his mother shout in warning while Sherlock stared after the android in shock. He tented his fingers and pressed them to his lips. Alright, so he was being cruel, but he had good reason. Well, at least he told himself that. He had experiments to do, information to uncover, and he couldn’t do that if he was spending time with John. 

The truth was that he found himself jealous when he watched John touching Sherrinford, John laughing because of Sherrinford, John simply smiling because of Sherrinford. He wanted John all to himself. It would be different if Sherrinford was like he was meant to be. That way there was no way John liked him any more than he did Sherlock. 

He realized how strange that thought was, considering Sherrinford was him, only more… open. Sherrinford didn’t know what it was like to be considered a freak and turned away because of who he was. And John hadn’t done that, yet, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t, and it would hurt, because for once, Sherlock really wanted to be liked. 

Thinking of John, Sherlock dug into his pocket and pulled out his phone. On top of the text yesterday, he’d received another from John earlier this afternoon, which he’d ignored as well. He pulled up the first one and smiled. _Rugby was cancelled because of the rain. If you’re not busy measuring how deep a footstep sinks in the mud or whatever the bloody hell it is you do, want to come over? JW_

_Did I do something wrong? If I did, I’m sorry. Let me make it up to you? JW_ , read the next text. Sherlock smiled unabashedly. 

_No, nothing wrong. I’ve been busy, he wrote, and then he paused, biting the inside of his lip. What would making it up to me entail? SH_

He’d barely had a chance to set down his phone before it was vibrating with a text. _Come by tomorrow and I’ll show you ;) JW_

Sherlock blushed and tried to write a reply 3 different times before settling on, _Okay. SH_

After they decided on meeting directly after school the following day, Sherlock put his phone back on the table with a smile and spent the rest of the day looking forward to seeing John, so he barely even noticed when it went dark outside. It was drawn to his attention when Sherrinford came in and sat down in his chair to shut himself down. 

“Good night,” the android said, as it always did, right before it went still. 

Sherlock decided he should probably get some sleep, too, in preparation for the following day. He quickly changed from his black trousers and white button-up into a big, soft white t-shirt and kept on his black pants. He fell asleep almost instantly and was awoken the next morning by Sherrinford shaking him awake. 

“You’re going to be late to meet John,” the android warned him. 

Sherlock groaned and rubbed at his eyes. “You read my texts?” 

The android glanced away, looking sheepish. “I wanted to see what John said the other day,” he told him, then handed Sherlock a stack of folded clothes. “No time for a shower.” 

Sherlock sat up and took the proffered clothes in his sleep-heavy arms. “Aren’t you coming?” 

“Do you want me to?” 

Sherlock thought about it for a moment. “Of course,” he said, because in all honesty, he’d feel weird without him there. He and Sherrinford did everything together, it only made sense that that included this. 

Sherrinford smiled brightly at him and wandered away to grab their coats and shoes, making a pleased humming sound as he went.  


* * *

John was chatting with a girl outside the fence surrounding the rugby field. She had short blond hair and a pretty smile, and she giggled and leaned close to John whenever he said something funny. Sherlock and Sherrinford both paused when they saw them chatting and glanced at each other, unsure of themselves until John noticed them and waved at them. 

They started over to him and the girl’s smile fell when she noticed John smiling at them. “Mary, this is Sherlock and Sherrinford.” 

The girl’s blue eyes widened when she looked at them. “Wow, you guys are twins, right?” 

“Actually-” John started 

“Yes, we are,” Sherrinford inserted quickly. He offered his hand and Mary shook it, looking a bit starstruck. “Nice to meet you, Mary. Now we’ll be off,” he said, slipping his arm through John’s and steering him away, much to the chagrin of Mary, who looked after them frowning. 

“Sherrinford, what are you doing?” John said, hurrying to keep up with Sherrinford’s longer strides. 

“Getting you away from her. Mary clearly wants to have sex with you, John. She had to know that you were already taken.” 

“Oh, am I now?” 

Sherlock and Sherrinford glanced over at him from either side of him and both wore worried frowns. 

“Is that… not right?” Sherrinford asked. 

“Well, if it was, nobody told me about it. That’s the kind of thing you discuss with a person first.” 

Sherrinford frowned. “I’m sorry. I did not mean to jump to conclusions.” 

“It’s alright.” 

Sherlock and Sherrinford continued walking and John hurried to catch up. 

“Well, aren’t you going to ask?” 

“Ask what?” both Holmes’ asked at the same time. 

“If I want to be your boyfriend.” 

“Don’t you?” Sherrinford asked, frowning. 

John sighed and rubbed at his forehead like he was getting a headache. “I’m starting to reconsider.” 

Sherlock pressed his lips together tensely and John must’ve noticed, because he laughed softly. 

“I’m kidding. Of course I do. Well, I mean, I’d like to take you out on a date first, but yeah,” John smiled warmly. 

“Does that mean there’s been a change of plans?” Sherlock asked. 

“Umm… Well, I still need to shower,” John said, blushing. 

“Then let’s go,” Sherlock said. He started to walk before pausing and holding out his hand to John hopefully. 

John smiled and took his hand and they set off for his house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things will start picking up a bit more in the next chapter, I promise!

**Author's Note:**

> If you have the time, I always love getting comments.
> 
> Thank you for reading!
> 
> If you would like to follow me on Tumblr, you can find me [ here!](http://whichwolfwins.tumblr.com/)


End file.
